


History Repeating

by lollzie



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Bipolar Disorder, M/M, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-10
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-24 21:41:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2597405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lollzie/pseuds/lollzie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Ian Gallagher was fifteen years old, Monica slit her wrists as the whole family sat around the table eating dinner. <br/>When Ian Gallagher was seventeen years old, he downed a full prescription of antidepressants with a bottle of vodka as the whole family sat around the table eating dinner. <br/>Monica was saved, but will Ian be so lucky?</p>
            </blockquote>





	History Repeating

**Author's Note:**

> My first stab at a Shameless fic, so I hope everyone enjoys! If anyone has any criticisms or advice please feel free to leave a comment, as I not only love to improve my writing, but also my characterizations!

“Sometimes I still hate myself for it y'know?” Ian croaked, his voice muffled by the blanket that was wrapped tightly around his form, and had been for days now.

“For what?” Mickey asked, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible, though it was by no means an easy task for the ex-convict. This was the first time that Ian had willingly spoken up in days, and if it wasn't for his words, Mickey would have thought he'd hit a positive turning point, but he knew by now that unfounded optimism was sometimes the mind's worst weapon, and until Ian was getting out of bed and able to talk about not hating himself, Mickey wouldn't allow himself to be too hopeful. Because of that, he constantly monitored what he said and did whenever around Ian, he didn't want to unwittingly push the younger boy away for being too loud, too insensitive. Too like himself.

“Monica,” Ian mumbled, turning on his back so he could directly face Mickey who was sat next to him, leaning against the head-post of the bed, a half burnt out cigarette in one hand, and an almost empty packet laying next to him on the bedside table.

Only centimetres away, sat a small bottle of pills, almost full to the top. Lip had dropped by earlier that week to give them to Mickey. They'd been Monica's he said, probably not the right dosage for the young Gallagher to get back to normal, but enough to pull him out of the depressive slump he'd been in since the christening. At first Mickey hadn't wanted to use them, had thrown them to the side with a stubbornness only a Milkovich could possess, because if he didn't, if he decided to use them then he'd be admitting defeat.

He'd be admitting that Ian was ill, had bipolar just like his mum, and if he did that, there would be nothing stopping Ian being taken away from him and being locked up in the nearest psych ward. And Mickey couldn't have that, he just couldn't, not now. They'd fought so long and hard to be together, had gone through hell and back, it wasn't fair that the first chance of happiness they truly had was destroyed by Ian's illness.

Not that Mickey was blaming the redhead, no, he could never blame Ian, no matter how hard he tried, which only made the heartbreak he felt as he watched the younger man curl up into a tight ball in bed, refusing to look or speak to anybody, even worse. So he waited for Ian to snap out of it, bided his time, praying with each new day that this would be it, this would be the day Ian finally got out of bed, become him again and everyone could forget this whole bipolar mess had ever happened.

But everyday was the same.

Ian wouldn't move.

He'd stare at the wall, pulling the blanket up around his head.

He wouldn't talk to anyone, no matter how hard they tried to get a response from him.

He wouldn't eat or drink unless Mickey physically forced him to do so.

He would just lay there, unseeing and drowning.

On the fourth day after Lip had dropped the pills off, Mickey found himself snapping. It was at a stupid time, something like 3a.m, but the dark-haired man had stopped sleeping soundly ever since Ian had stopped talking. He'd found himself opening up google on the stolen laptop he'd... acquired a little over a month ago, mind racing at a hundred miles an hour and full of questions that he needed the answers to.

Taking a deep breath he'd typed in the words 'Bipolar Disorder', reading for the first time what experts and wikipedia had to say about the disease. And with each passing second, with every line read, Mickey wished he could stop and forget everything he'd learnt, but he couldn't. It was like a trainwreck in the sense that he couldn't peel his eyes away, no matter how hard he tried, as he finally learnt about just what may be wrong with Ian.

_Manic depression_

_Mood swings_

_Can last weeks_

_Psychosis_

_Suicide_

Mickey wanted to be sick as he read it all, though he couldn't help but link each note with an action or behaviour of Ian's, which only made the pit in his stomach feel even heavier. Because Ian, his fucking wonderful and brilliant Ian couldn't be ill, not in this way, but Mickey had to accept that all the signs were there, and everything the Gallagher's were saying was making perfect sense too.

And there was no way in hell the young Milkovich would ever lie down and accept Ian being sent to a psych ward whilst being pumped full of drugs that turned him into a mindless zombie, but looking at him now, crawled into a tiny ball and terrified by the images his mind was presenting him, Mickey had to accept that the former was really the lesser of the two evils.

So with a sigh, he'd pulled himself off of the bed and began hunting around his room, looking for the bottle of pills he'd thrown to the floor in a fit of rage just days before. He found it eventually, lodged between a deflated football that Mickey had stolen from some neighbourhood kids in a petty fit of annoyance, and a crate of beer that was still half full.

Grabbing a glass of water from the kitchen, and steadfastly ignoring the baby's cry from Svetlana's room, Mickey made his way back to the room, moving to Ian's side of the bed and shaking him awake gently.

“You need to take this mumbles,” he said softly, preventing the redhead from turning over with a firm hand on his shoulder. “You can go back to sleep later, I just need you to do this for me.” It took a good few minutes, but eventually Ian had swallowed the pill and finished off half the water, before he turned away from Mickey, burrowing deeper into the covers.

The ex-con couldn't help but sigh, though he wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. Lip hadn't told him how long it would take for the medication to take effect, though even Mickey wasn't dense enough to think it would work after just seconds in the system. But he couldn't leave Ian now, he had to be there in case there was any change in the other boy's behaviour, good or bad. Mickey had to be there to see if the damn medication worked, he wasn't going to leave Ian for anything, not till he was marginally better anyway.

So Mickey moved to the other side of the bed, lit up a cigarette and started the waiting game, glaring at anyone and everyone who dared to breath too loudly as they passed by the bedroom door, as if it was the volume of the house that was making Ian like he was. But three hours later Ian spoke up for the first time in what felt like forever, and even if he was talking of self-hatred, Mickey couldn't help but see it as a little bit like progress, because hey, at least he was sharing his problems and thoughts now. It had to be one step in the right direction.

“What about your mom?” Mickey asked with a small frown, stubbing his cigarette out in the over-flowing ashtray and settling on the bed so he could meet Ian's eye easier, rubbing his thumb across the younger boy's cheek when he didn't answer the question, the only indication that he heard being a sharp intake of breathe and widening of his eyes.

“You'll hate me. Everyone would if they knew, it's why I've never told anyone,” Ian mumbled, the only thing preventing him from looking away being Mickey's hands which were now cupping his face.

“Don't be fucking daft, you know I couldn't do that,” Mickey replied, thinking over every word before he said it, though the swear still escaped. Everything he did around Ian was so pre-mediated now, he didn't want to risk it and send the redhead to the deep end by a misjudged comment, though it wasn't an easy task, Mickey had never been good with words at the best of times.

“It was when she tried to kill herself,” Ian said so softly Mickey had to strain his ears to hear him, his heart breaking as he noted the tears in his lover's eys. “We were all around the family table having fucking thanksgiving like Monica hadn't spent the last day hiding under the stairs like this fucking sort of hermit, and she said.. told me she was going to the kitchen to get some water. But, but next thing we know, she'd collapsed in the kitchen, slit her bloody wrists, and blood, there was so much blood everywhere. I don't how she didn't die right away.”

By then Ian was full on crying, his hands shaking as tears trailed down his face, falling onto the pillow below. Trying not to curse at anything and everything, Mickey pulled him into a tight hug, shushing and soothing Ian, though it had little effect on the emotional teen.

“Why is it your fault though? You did fuck all-” Mickey started, not sure where Ian was going with this, or what he was meant to have taken away from the story.

“I should have realised what she was going to do!” Ian cried, practically exploding. He pulled away from Mickey's hold as he sat up, running a hand through his unwashed hair, practically pulling it out. “I knew she was depressed, I knew she was unstable. Of course she wasn't going to get some water. I should have realised, if I hadn't been so wrapped up in my own shit I might have put two and two together. I could have stopped it, I should-”

“Hey,” Mickey said, interrupting Ian's crazed ramblings with a stern word, biting his lip in worry. “Your mom trying to fucking off herself wasn't yours or anyones fault you got that? She wasn't trying to tell you something, wasn't sending you a secret message that you had to fucking decode. Monica wasn't thinking when she did that, she was ill okay, she couldn't help what she did.”

_Just like you_ Mickey couldn't help but think, grimacing before the thought had even fully formed in his head. But it was too late, because as he was thinking over Monica's situation, he couldn't help but compare mother and son, connecting the startling similarities between the pair. And then Mickey knew he had to accept the worst, that Ian really was ill. That he needed help, professional help that he couldn't provide on his own.

The ex-con was finally accepting what the Gallagher's had been telling him for all these weeks, his heart breaking once more as he realised that he really couldn't do anything for Ian that would help. He wasn't enough, with his carefully thought out words and borrowed pills. But he could do something to help, so mind made up, Mickey grabbed his phone from the side, one arm curled around Ian's limp form as he composed a text, because wounded pride was nothing when compared to Ian's wellbeing.

}}}}}}}}

“Do we really have to be here,” Ian asked again, wrapping his arms tightly around himself and looking more than slightly ill.

“For the fifth fucking time, yeah,” Mickey said, pressing the doorbell again, before hitting the actual door with his fist, in this neighbourhood it wasn't a given that the doorbell would be working. “It'll be good for you, and they want to see you too.” Before Ian could argue again, the door was opened, and said boy was pulled into a tight hug.

“You're here!” Fiona squealed, her grin so bright it was practically a beacon. “Come in, both of you! The others can't wait to see you.” The eldest Gallagher moved back so Ian and Mickey could squeeze through, the smell of cigarette smoke hitting them the second they entered the small family home. “Thank you,” Fiona mumbled into Mickey's ear as he passed by, her voice too low for Ian to pick up on, though she could probably have talked at a normal volume without him hearing, as the excited cries from the other siblings as they embraced Ian would have been enough to drown out gunshots. “You didn't have to look after him like you've done, I really appreciate it.”

“Like I said, he's fucking family,” Mickey replied gruffly, not sure how to act when faced with a compliment. Growing up as a Milkovich meant a kind word had always been a rarity, and to this day, Mickey still never knew how to act. “I just want him to get better yeah.”

“And he will do, we'll make sure of it,” Fiona promised, her eyes honest. “I would have suggested doing it straight away, but the kids needed to see he was doing better yeah? I've got an appointment at the clinic for four though.”

“Yeah I get you, cheers,” Mickey nodded, breathing a genuine sigh of relief at Fiona's words, realising that maybe he wasn't so alone after all. “Could make him feel better too, him being on his own so much can't be good for him.”

“Here's hoping,” Fiona sighed, making her way to the kitchen, slipping into mum mode as she went. “Right guys, help me set up the table!” In just minutes the whole family were crowded around the table, having brought it into the living room so the family, plus Mickey, Vee and Kev could all fit around. Everyone was laughing. Everyone was telling stupid stories.

Everyone was having a good time, though Mickey found he couldn't focus on Lip's story from his English class at college, all his attention drawn to Ian to the extent where he was unable to peel his eyes off of him. And he could see the redhead was trying, investing in a conversation with Carl, smiling at the right moments of a story, but he was still distant. The smile never quite reached his eyes, and Mickey hadn't seen Ian take one bite of his lunch.

But it was progress, at least he was dressed and out of the house today. Mickey knew he couldn't expect miracles, but at least it seemed like Ian was improving. Maybe he'd have the old Ian back in no time at all. Once upon a time Mickey would have cursed his foolish optimism, called it fucking stupid and a waste of space, because people who hoped were vulnerable, could be hurt because they had dreams that could be destroyed. But looking at Ian, well, it was completely impossible for him to stick to his usual way of thinking, because this ginger little bastard had snuck under his skin, got through all of Mickey's defences and completely re-wired his brain. He made 2+2 equal 5, though the dark haired boy found he couldn't find it in himself to care, because when he was with Ian, it simply stopped mattering.

And he would do anything it took to fix Ian, stick by him through it all, because he fucking loved him more than he thought possible. And that scared Mickey shitless, he had never loved anyone, bar Mandy but she was his fucking sister and it was different, but when he took another look at Ian, trying so hard to look like he was invested in what Veronica had to say about the twins, he knew it was more than worth it. Ian was worth it.

“I'm just going to grab another drink,” Ian muttered into Mickey's ear, motioning to his empty glass and breaking the older boy's train of thought. “Be back in a sec.”

“Okay,” Mickey muttered, flashing Ian a small smile before grabbing a fry from the side, dipping it in to the ketchup that was smeared all over his plate. He was laughing as Carl told the family a story about he'd managed to blow up half the chemistry room in school earlier that week when he froze, words connecting in his mind.

_She told me she was going to the kitchen to get some water_

_Just getting a drink_

_She collapsed in the kitchen, and blood, there was so much blood everywhere_

“Mickey?” Lip asked, eyes wide in concern as he took in the other boy's pale complexion, having never seen the Milkovich look so scared. But Mickey wasn't listening to him, was praying and begging to every and any entity out there that he didn't believe in, that Ian wasn't doing what he thought he was. But Ian had been gone too long, it had been over five minutes now, it didn't take even a fraction of that time to get a glass of water.

“Ian?” he yelled, standing so suddenly his chair fell to the floor, practically running to the kitchen when he got no reply. The Gallagher's were all close on his heels as Mickey raced through the kitchen entrance, stopping to a halt when he saw Ian polishing off a glass of water, arching a brow in a confusion at the sudden appearance of his family.

“Yeah?” He asked, voice slightly shaky as he took in their worried expressions. “What is it?”

“I thought, I thought,” Mickey said, the laughter bubbling up his throat in an almost frantic way as he realised just how stupid he was being. God, what sort of sissy had Gallagher turned him into? But the laughter died before it had even left his mouth the second Mickey saw the pill bottle lying on the counter, the one that had definitely been in his coat pocket last time he checked, and was now looking suspiciously empty.

“Please tell me you haven't done what I think you have,” Mickey gasped, voice cracking as he already knew the answer without having to look at Ian's guilty expression.

“What? What's he done?” Fiona asked, the fear she was feeling obvious to everyone who looked at her. “What is it Mickey?” But Mickey didn't answer, instead focusing on the empty glass that Ian had been drinking from, it sitting innocently on the counter, drawing absolutely no attention to it. The younger teen followed Mickey's gaze, and as one, they both sprang for the glass, determined to reach it before the other did. If Mickey hadn't been 100% sure about what Ian had done before, the redhead's actions only confirmed his initial thoughts.

By some sort of miracle though, the older boy grabbed the glass first, moving away from Ian as he poured it to his mouth, sucking in the last few drops that lay at the bottom of the glass, grimacing as the familiar taste hit his tongue. Vodka.

“You've been fucking busy haven't you?” Mickey spat, too worked up, too scared to bother watching what he said anymore.

“Hey, watch your tongue!” Lip commanded because despite how grateful he was to Mickey for doing everything he had for Ian, there was still a primal instinct to protect his younger brother no matter what, and no matter from whom.

“How much did you take?” Mickey asked, paying the others no mind, just focusing on Ian now, desperate to get an answer from him, though he only received a shrug in reply.

“What's he's taken?” Fiona asked, shooting a panicked look to Vee, the other woman pushing herself past the family to move closer to Ian. “Mickey, we need to know. What's he's taken?”

“The fucking pills alright, he's downed the whole bottle of pills that Lip gave me.”

“Don't forget the vodka I washed it down with too,” Ian cut in, his voice practically taunting Mickey as he swayed where stood, leaning heavily on the counter to stay upright. Instinctively Fiona looked over to where the drinks were kept in the house, eyes widening as she saw the now practically empty vodka bottle.

“That was half full earlier, fuck! We need to get an ambulance down here, they're going to have to pump his stomach. Debbie can you call them?” With a sharp nod, the youngest Gallagher daughter grabbed her phone from her pocket, dialling with shaking hands, her voice trembling as she spoke with the operator, trying not to choke on tears.

“Can't we just make him throw it up?” Mickey asked, moving to Ian's side as the teen's legs finally gave out on him and he slid down to the floor, eyes glazing over as the alcohol hit him. “That gets rid of it.”

“He's taken so much it wouldn't get rid of half of it,” Veronica replied grimly, motioning for Kev to get both Carl and Liam out of the kitchen. And whilst the older boy would have normally protested, the terrified looks on everyone's faces kept him quiet, and he agreed without argument to help Kev signal to the ambulance when it arrived. “I don't know if it would even have an effect on him.”

“Well we have to do something!” Mickey cried, anger flashing in his eyes as he spoke. “We can't just sit here and do jack shit till the ambulance fucking decides to show up!”

“There's not a lot else we can do, just keep him awake,” Veronica said grimly, hating how little help she could provide to the younger boy. “Here, make him drink this,” she said, passing over a cup of water that Mickey took readily.

“Hey Ian, Ian look at me,” he said, keeping his voice as calm as he did, it wouldn't help anyone if he had a breakdown then and there. “You've got to drink this kay?” Ian managed maybe one pathetic sip of the water before he tried to shrug away, his movements sluggish and uncoordinated as the water dribbled down his chin.

“C'mon mate, you've got to drink,” Lip said, dropping to his knees on Ian's other side and keeping him still whilst Mickey tried with the water again.

“Don't wanna, no, stop,” Ian slurred, though he was already too weak to struggle.

“Well I don't wanna be sorting out your stupid ass when I should be having fucking lunch, but it looks like we can't all have what we want,” Mickey only replied, his biting sarcasm returning in full force as a form of defence. “Now for fucks sake, drink. Drink you bastard.” Again Ian only managed a sip of water before pulling away, throwing up all over himself, Mickey and Lip, coughing weakly as the mixture of vodka, pills and what little bit of lunch Ian had managed to eat, hit everyone's noses.

Hell if Mickey hadn't been so terrified, he would have been impressed at just how much Ian had managed to cover with his vomit. It was a pretty good range, he'd give him that.

“Leave me alone,” Ian groaned, trying to push the older boys away from him, though neither even moved an inch. “Just leave me alone! Just fucking- piss off, I fucking hate you, I fucking wish you were dead! Why can't you just leave me to fucking die you bastards.” No-one said a word as Ian continued with his slurred tirade, didn't move an inch till the paramedics arrived, helping an now almost unconscious Ian to the ambulance, and then it was only to the car, as they raced to follow the former vibrant and full of life teen. And if any of them saw the tears that had escaped from Mickey, took note of his pale pallor and terrified expression, well they had the good grace to not bring it up.

Just pushed down on the accelerator that bit harder, all praying that they wouldn't be too late. That Ian would still be there when they finally fought through the traffic and reached the hospital, that he wouldn't leave them.

Wouldn't leave Mickey.

}}}}}}}}}}

“Come on man, you need to calm down,” Kev said, motioning for a pacing Mickey to take the gawdy orange chair next to him, though his words were completely ignored by the younger man. “You're not going to do yourself any good stressing out like this.”

“Oh I'm fucking sorry, I'll just relax shall I? Put my fucking feet up and have a shitting nap, cause y'know, it's not like Ian is down there, fighting for his fucking life. Oh wait! He is, and these cunts aren't telling us a fucking thing!” Mickey snarled, glaring as a doctor passed by him, shrinking away from the volatile Milkovich as if that would keep him hidden. “No, they're just walking airily around, like nothing is fucking wrong, like-”

“Mickey you're going to have to calm down,” Fiona interrupted, running a hand through her hair as she spoke, fingers trembling minutely at the movement. “Going off on one isn't going to help anyone, in fact, it'll probably just get you chucked out and then you won't get to see Ian.” Hearing the younger boy's name seemed to finally sap all of the fight out of Mickey, and even though he wanted nothing more than to scream and hit the nearest face, Fiona's words hit home instead.

Taking a calming breath, he took the seat Kev had offered him just moments ago, leg shaking frantically as the only release for his errant energy. No-one had the heart (or the death-wish) to tell Mickey to cut it out.

“Is Ian going to be okay?” Carl asked, his normal cocky façade having long since crumbled, and for once, he truly looked his age.

“Of course he will be,” Fiona said with a strained smile, clutching both his and Debbie's hands tightly in her own. “Ian's made of stronger stuff than this. He's a Gallagher remember?”

Mickey could feel his own argument forming, could feel the urge to shut down Fiona and tell the kids the cold harsh truth that Ian was probably fucking screwed, to allow them to feel a fraction of the pain that he was experiencing too, but one look from Lip had him holding his tongue. And God, he hated taking orders from the eldest Gallagher brother, but even he knew there was a time and a place, and right there, right now, as the eight of them desperately waited for any sort of information on how Ian was doing, was not it.

“Ms. Gallagher?” A nurse called through the crowded waiting room, her eye instantly caught by the movement of the family all turning to face her.

“How is he? Is he ok?” Fiona asked immediately, jumping to her feet, eyes wide with frenzy.

“Due to the number of drugs which were highly powerful on their own, never mind when mixed with almost 200mls of vodka, we've had to pump Ian's stomach, and have got him attached to a drip to try and flush anything out that may have already reached his system,” the nurse started, looking over her notes to make sure she didn't miss anything.

“But will he be okay?” Mickey asked again, not in the right mindset to deal with any sort of bullshit sent his way.

“We've just got the results back from the CT scan and electrocardigram, and everything seems to be normal with his brain and heart activity. Ian's still asleep so we can't be one hundred percent sure everything is fine, but the initial signs seem to be okay.”

“Does that mean we get to see him?” Debbie asked, shooting the older woman a hopeful look.

“Unfortunately at the moment, only one person can go into the room at a time, and I must insist on them being over eighteen.” Debbie and Carl tried to hide their dismay with little success, not even being placated when the nurse told them they'd most likely be able to go see Ian after a few more checks had been carried out.

“You go,” Fiona's soft voice startled Mickey out of his thoughts, and he couldn't keep the confusion off of his face as he met the older woman's eyes. “We can see him later, but you should go see him first.”

Although he wanted nothing more than to run to Ian's room, to make sure he was still breathing with his own eyes and to not leave his side till the former cadet had woken up, Mickey found himself looking to the others first, to make sure they felt the same way. Because he might not be the most subtle person, into feelings and pre-thinking a situation, but Mickey was well aware of boundaries. And although Fiona had said it was okay (why she had, he had no clue), Mickey wanted to make sure he wasn't stepping on anyone's toes by going to see Ian first. After all, there was a time and place to be a dick, and this most certainly wasn't one.

But everyone seemed to be accepting that Mickey would be the one to see Ian first, even Lip nodded, though there was a burning fire in his eyes that indicated he was far from happy about the situation. In an instance, Mickey's respect for all the Gallagher's grew tenfold.

Growing up, he had been taught the most important thing was family, that no-one messed with that, and Mickey just knew that was how the close-knit family before him had been brought up too. Even though that was how he viewed Ian, Mickey tolerated the others at best. But for them to willingly agree to let him see Ian now, well it meant he himself had made an impact on them, and this was their way of showing him that he too, at least on Ian's part, was family now. The warm feeling in his chest was an odd one, one that Mickey rarely experienced, though he wasn't going to say no to it. Maybe just maybe he'd found a place for himself in the world.

Though that could wait, because now wasn't a time to think about how his boyfriend's family were finally starting to openly accept him, no, there was a much greater task that Mickey had to complete first. As he went to push the door that lead to Ian open, Mickey found his hand trembling. For hours now, he had wanted nothing more than to go and see Ian, had had to be physically restrained by Kev and Lip more than once, but now when he was given the chance, he was frozen in place, unable to move, scared stiff about the sight that may meet him on the other side of the door.

“Stop being a fucking pansy Milkovich,” he snapped to himself, mustering the family courage and pushing down on the door handle and finally entering the room. The sight he was met with was enough to freeze him in his tracks, and the young man wanted to be sick right then and there. He wanted to scream, and run, wanted to destroy something, to make the whole world feel the pain he was currently experiencing.

Because the teen that lay before him wasn't his Ian, didn't look anything like him. Because Ian was strong, larger than life, though with a cold steeliness hidden deep within his eyes, and the boy in the bed was tiny, pale and hooked up to more machines than Mickey thought should be possible. How was it possible that they were the same person?

Once again Mickey felt his heart breaking, and he was unable to stop the tears that fell free, wiping them away with the sleeve of his shirt. The nurse said that Ian was most likely going to be okay, but how could she say that when she had seen him in this state. If it wasn't for the slow rise and fall of his chest, the beeping that came from the monitor at a steady rate, Mickey would have been convinced the red-head was dead.

The young Milkovich couldn't place this still form with the same man that had been stripping off like no-one's business just weeks before, hell he couldn't see him as the Ian that had been holed up in bed, unseeing and unmoving from below the duvet covers.

“God you look like fucking shit,” he finally said, taking a step closer to Ian's unconscious form, though unsurprisingly the younger teen didn't react. That wasn't exactly new though, for the last few weeks, Ian had been blocking out the whole world and Mickey wasn't sure which version of the lifeless boy he hated more.

“Why'd you do it hey? Though I've got to appreciate the fucking poetic shit you had going on there, same place as Monica, even same meal of the bloody day. Lip was saying that was probably intentional, that you've always been a dramatic little shit at the best of times,” at this Mickey found his voice breaking, as he tried to fight against the tears that were threatening to spill.

He'd already cried too much over the past few hours, he wasn't going to again goddamit! The young man was itching for a cigarette, but he wasn't stupid enough to try and get away with lighting up in the middle of the hospital. For one, the staff might ban him from seeing Ian, and even though he hated to admit he'd been thinking about it, Mickey was worried all the chemicals would only make the former cadet worse. Instead, he bit back at his craving, trying to focus on the words that would come next. Debbie had been banging on about how people in comas could hear you talking, and although Ian was simply resting, it was worth a shot right?

“I don't think he's right though, you ain't that fucking deep. Do you know what I think that was? Hell I may as well tell you, not like you're going to answer back is it? I think that was a test, your way of seeing if I was worth it. Your fucked up mind has been telling you all this shit about you not being good enough and you were trying to see if it was right, because I don't believe for a second that you coincidentally brought up what Monica did, I mean you were never good at subtlety.

"You wanted to see if I connected the dots, and I know I did, but I wasn't exactly quick enough was I? Are you fucking happy now? I mean, you got your answer, you're going to be locked up in that fucking psych ward for fuck knows how long, and the doctor's are saying you may have caused irreversible damage to your liver, but hey, at least you got to carry out your little social experiment!

"I mean, lets get our priorities straight, it really doesn't matter if your whole family are worried sick out there, that Debbie hasn't stopped crying since they found you, it doesn't matter that I'm going fucking crazy knowing that I should have realised what you were doing earlier, that I should have stopped this, because at least Ian fucking Gallagher has gotten his answers!”

By then Mickey was pacing around the room, nervous energy coursing through his veins, clenching and unclenching his fists frantically as if that would release some of his erratic energy.

“I'm sorry,” a quiet voice mumbled, breaking the silence that had fallen over the room as Mickey tried to catch his breath. Ian tried to sit up, though the number of machines he was hooked up prevented him from succeeding, and he soon gave up, choosing to stare at Mickey from where he lay, eye's struggling to deal with the bright lights. “I didn't... I didn't mean for that to happen, I just...”

“Then what were you trying?” Mickey couldn't help himself asking, turning and leaning on the bed post by Ian's feet, hating the way the younger boy winced and was unable to meet his eye.

“I don't know, I mean, I wanted to get help I really did, I hate putting you through all this shit, but I kept thinking about what Monica had done, about how she had tried to get out of it all, and how easy it would be to do it too. And then I saw the bottle of pills, and the drink that Fiona had left over from her party, and I realised I could do it, that I could get out. I wasn't thinking of testing you or the others, why would I? It's not you that's fucked up, you're not the one who needs to prove himself, that's me! And I hate myself so much, because I know I'm no-where near good enough for you, and now this... this fucking sickness has kept you with me, because you can't leave me without looking like a right dick! And that's not fair, not when you can do so much better than me, I don't know, maybe I was just trying to give you a way out?”

“Oh fucking hell,” Mickey couldn't help when Ian had finished, pinching the bridge of his nose as if that would alleviate any of his pressure. Moving away from the foot of the bed and finally taking the seat that lay next to Ian, the ex-con grabbed the redhead's hand, taking a deep breath as he got ready to talk, hoping that for once, he would say the right thing and not screw things up further.

“You've got to get it into your goddamned head that I'm not going anywhere Gallagher. We've been through too much shit for a stupid little mental disorder to beat us now.”

“How can you say that?” Ian whispered, looking over to Mickey, his eyes shining with unshed tears, and the young Milkovich marvelled at just how many times in one day his heart could break, because he had seen Ian hurting and broken far too many times recently, and he would do anything to permanently rid him of that expression. “I'm fucking broken, so screwed up they'll probably never let me go.”

“If they even dare, I'd break you out,” Mickey said, and even though he can see that Ian took it as joke, both boys know he's deadly serious. “I ain't leaving you, not now, not ever, you've got to believe me.”

“Y'know I think I do,” Ian said with a soft smile, manoeuvring his arm around the IV's and various wires that were all attached to him, to grasp Mickey's hand softly in his own. Despite how much he tried, Mickey was unable to stop the smile that graced his own features in return, finally feeling a hint of hope that maybe the future wouldn't be as bleak as he first thought it would be.

He didn't know what would come next. If Ian would be 'better' in a months time or in a year. He had no fucking clue if Ian would relapse further down the line like Monica was so prone to doing, or if it was a one off (he fucking hoped so). He had no clue on what the future held for Ian, but Mickey did know one thing, and maybe, it was the most important thing of them all.

He, Mickey Milkovich fucking loved Ian Gallagher more than words could fucking say, and he was never going to leave him. No matter how many hurtful words were thrown his way, how many tears and mood swings, the ex-con made himself a vow. No matter what, he was never going to leave Ian, and maybe, just maybe, his fucking gay and cavity inducing love would be just enough to help the redhead through this, would show him he did have people to support him, people who needed him better and fully recovered. People who needed Ian back as Ian fucking Gallagher, and Mickey knew he wouldn't stop till that happened.


End file.
